


The End And Start Of A Cycle

by atom2



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Game 7 Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Milwaukee Brewers, National League Championship Series 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 13:06:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16744561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atom2/pseuds/atom2
Summary: Disappointment is the tip of the iceberg, but they won't let themselves feel a thing.How it felt after the NLCS.





	The End And Start Of A Cycle

**Author's Note:**

> this was initially going to be Yeli and Trav fucking the hurt out of each other, but i thought cutting it short made a perfect ending
> 
> aka
> 
> i finally wrote a fic that wasn't Jesus/Orlando huh

“I don’t know what makes you think you can try to fix this right now.”

Travis didn’t know, either. He didn’t like to see Christian upset, he didn’t like to see the most cheerful members of his team upset, he didn’t like to see _himself_ upset. Travis was the only player that really showed much negative emotion. He informed umpires of their wide strike zone with frustration, usually translating into angry outbursts and a ticket out of the game. This time, this disappointment, there was no stomping, no bat breaking, no one to scream at. Travis; everyone sealed it up. They had no one to blame but themselves.

With Taylor’s catch and the swing of Puig’s bat, it was over. All 40,000 Milwaukeeans who came here to watch their team clinch a place in the World Series knew it’d take one more year. They were already on Twitter asking where the team they saw win the division was. In the dugout, the Brewers were asking themselves the same thing. Moustakas struck out swinging and the Dodgers flooded the field the Brewers had defended since March, and gave away so easily by mid-October.

The air reached its heaviest when they ducked their heads into the clubhouse, though they were given about two minutes to sulk before the media began their coverage. Most of the lights were off, there was no champagne and New Era licensed goggles greeting them. Once they crossed the threshold, the reality of their loss set in. All their effort felt like it had no reward. But what happened to the twelve game winning streak, or the regular season alone? How did that all slip away?

Christian had cried in a major league clubhouse before, but he hadn’t in two years, when J-

He couldn’t think about that right then. Everything he couldn’t get out during the regular season or during his postseason drought he got out then. Christian couldn’t be the person everyone went to. He wasn’t stable, he wasn’t a leader. He was just a kid from California who got his hopes up. _Christian doesn’t make any any noise when he cries, he just shudders._ He let everything around him turn into a buzz. A warm hand didn’t startle him back to reality, rubbing what should’ve been soothing circles into the navy 22 that burned through his jersey.

The hand belonged to his minus one, Travis. Always a constant in Christian’s life, someone reliable, someone who knew what to say. It was mutual, Travis received a fair amount of comfort from Christian being in his life, too; before and after the night they spend on a hotel balcony, discussing how being with a guy, any guy, could work, and what aspects of dusk and the nighttime that followed were beautiful. Before the night was over, a question and an answer determined their relationship for the rest of the year:

 

_Travis asked,_ “ **_Do_ **you wanna kiss me?”

_“Yeah,” Christian answered, “I guess I do.”_

 

This time, what Travis asked Christian just made things worse. He rubbed his boyfriend’s back, vibrating from the aftershocks of his sobs, and took one of the hands covering his face in his. Travis eased Christian so that he was sitting up straight, and gently tried to lighten the mood.

“At least we saved our dignity and don’t get to be destroyed by the Red Sox next, right?”

Christian snapped. He didn’t want to talk about another delayed heart breaker. He didn’t want to be lightened up. Across the room, he heard Brauny speaking to a swarm of writers about the loss. Christian folded his arms and leaned back into Travis, aware of the wet tracks. _Of fucking course he knows all the right things to say._  

“Trav,” Christian pushed Travis’ arm away, like he was giving an object back, “just- I’m sorry. I need to clear my head for a bit.” He indicated the crowd around Brauny before adding, “They’re going to want me to say something soon. Give me ten minutes to do that, then we can cry to each other or whatever.”

Travis nodded and gave Christian’s hand a reassuring squeeze before getting up and ambling to his own stall, stopping to give small, lifeless smiles to the rookies who enjoyed the ride.

Twenty minutes later, after most of the franchise faces had talked to the media and the tears on Christian’s face dried, the team was reunited. More smiles and laughs filled the clubhouse. They both showered separately, though each time was as solitary as the last. Back in the common area or in the cafe, they all said goodbye to each other. Everyone made sure to spend extra time with the free agents, especially Kratzy. They of course had to stop and thank Attanasio and Stearns, the owner and GM that created this team, and at the door, Couns.

Travis and Christian approached him while holding hands and gave him a hug. Though the manager had just watched the team of his childhood lose their World Series chances, he proudly wore a grin.

“Yeli, T.S.,” he said while pulling out of his embrace with Christian, “please play as tremendously as you did this year, next year. We’re going all the way.”

Couns paused regard them both, and continued, “Especially you, Mr. MVP. Give Travis a little 40 home run magic for me during the offseason, will ya?” The group chuckled, and the couple gave a “see you in the spring” before turning to leave the clubhouse for another year.

Time to start anew.

**Author's Note:**

> fuck the dodgers


End file.
